People have been staring directly at my protruding midsection lately and asking, "Why do you want to do that again?"

"Just crazy, I guess," is my usual reply.I wish I could tell them how privileged I feel. I am at present, very "full of life" expecting Baads-gaard baby No. 7. It's great.

Being pregnant is really wonderful except for when it's awful sometimes. But by and large, pregnancy is like being given the privilege of experiencing the magic of Christmas for nine months.

When you find out you're pregnant, it's like being presented a microscopic Christmas present nine months early, neatly wrapped with a "don't open until" sign called a due date. This present continually grows bigger and bigger right under your eyes. You can't peek under the paper or rattle the box, because the contents of this box only rattle from the inside.

Talk about exciting. There you are one day washing the dishes or cleaning the toilet and suddenly you feel something inside you move. Now, you are accustomed to gas bubbles, but this is something different. You immediately stop scrubbing or washing and wait to see if it will happen again. Wow. It happens again.

If anyone is within war-whoop range, they know something dramatic has happened. You feel like running outside and dancing in the streets. What you'd really like is to interrupt all regularly scheduled international broadcast programming with a news break live from your bathroom. The reporter would rush in and push a microphone in your face while you stand there in awe with your toilet bowl brush in hand and say, "My baby moved. I just felt it move. There was this little blurp and then a bloop-bloop."

This magic moment generally happens after you've spent three long, and I mean long, months continually looking for a place to sleep, racing to the sink just in time, frantically looking for a bathroom, and passing out in public just to keep the people around you alert. It's a good thing this monumental event takes place about now because you've just about had it up to here with being pregnant.

All it takes is that magic bloop or bleep-bleep and you're on Cloud 9. Nausea, lightheadedness, bladders crammed into crowded pelvic girdles and extreme exhaustion are suddenly unimportant. There's a real baby in there!

Most people who write about pregnancy tend to be male obstetricians who seem totally oblivious to the truly terrific parts of pregnancy. Even if they go to medical school for 87 years and deliver one zillion babies, males will never have any idea, whatsoever, how wonderful that first blurp feels.

Obstetricians tend to focus their misdirected attention to making a historical document with copious notes on how much weight you're gaining and undermining your dignity by insisting you bring a "sample" to each prenatal office visit. Now this less-than-dignified procedure is hard enough to remember when you first wake up, as they request, let alone transport to the doctor's office.

If you put your sample in your purse, there's always the chance the lid will pop off, leaving all purse contents forever unusable. If you leave the sample outside the purse, the whole world can see you carrying your sample.

Being pregnant is definitely no piece of cake at times, but it's pretty wonderful other times. So the next time you see me, know I'm doing that again because I want to, very much. And if you have the time, I'll tell you about my latest bloop, bleep-bleep, blurp, doop. Boy, it was something.